Words of Radiance

She nodded, unable to stop the tears.

“Good,” he said, resting his hand on her head, then running his fingers through her hair. “Thank you.”

He left her, shutting the door.

Folio: Azish Public Servant Designs

49. Watching the World Transform

These Lightweavers, by no coincidence, included many who pursued the arts; namely: writers, artists, musicians, painters, sculptors. Considering the order’s general temperament, the tales of their strange and varied mnemonic abilities may have been embellished.

From Words of Radiance, chapter 21, page 10

After leaving her carriage at a stable in the Outer Market, Shallan was led to a stairwell carved into the stone of a hillside. She climbed this, then stepped hesitantly out onto a terrace that had been cut from the side of the hill here. Lighteyes wearing stylish clothing chatted over cups of wine at the patio’s numerous ironwork tables.

They were high enough here to look out over the warcamps. The perspective was eastward, toward the Origin. What an unnatural arrangement; it made her feel exposed. Shallan was accustomed to balconies, gardens, and patios all facing away from the storms. True, nobody was likely to be out here when a highstorm was expected, but it just felt off to her.

A master-servant in black and white arrived and bowed, calling her Brightness Davar without need of an introduction. She’d have to get used to that; in Alethkar she was a novelty, and an easily recognizable one. She let the servant lead her among the tables, sending her guards for the day off toward a larger room cut farther into the stone to the right. This one had a proper roof and walls, so it could be completely closed off, and a group of other guards waited here upon the whims of their masters.

Shallan drew the eyes of the other patrons. Well, good. She had come here to upset their world. The more people spoke of her, the better her chances of persuading them, when the time came, to listen to her regarding the parshmen. Those were everywhere in camp, even here in this luxurious winehouse. She spotted three in the corner, moving wine bottles from wall-mounted racks to crates. They moved at a plodding yet implacable pace.

A few more steps brought her to the marble balustrade right at the edge of the terrace. Here Adolin had a table set off by itself with an unobstructed view directly east. Two members of Dalinar’s house guard stood by the wall a short distance away; Adolin was important enough, apparently, that his guards didn’t need to wait with the others.

Adolin browsed a folio, oversized by design so it wouldn’t be mistaken for a woman’s book. Shallan had seen some folios containing battle maps, others with designs for armor or pictures of architecture. She was amused as she caught sight of the glyphs for this one, with women’s script underneath for further clarification. Fashions out of Liafor and Azir.

Adolin looked as handsome as he had before. Maybe more so, now that he was obviously more relaxed. She would not let him muddle her mind. She had a purpose to this meeting: an alliance with House Kholin to help her brothers and give her resources for exposing the Voidbringers and discovering Urithiru.

She couldn’t afford to come off as weak. She had to control the situation, could not act like a sycophant, and she couldn’t—

Adolin saw her and closed the portfolio. He stood up, grinning.

—oh, storms. That smile.

“Brightness Shallan,” he said, holding out a hand toward her. “You are settling well in Sebarial’s camp?”

“Yeah,” she said, grinning at him. That mop of unruly hair just made her want to reach out and run her fingers through it. Our children would have the strangest hair ever, she thought. His gold and black Alethi locks, my red ones, and…

And was she really thinking about their children

? Already? Foolish girl.

“Yes,” she continued, trying to de-melt a little. “He has been quite kind to me.”

“It’s probably because you’re family,” Adolin said, letting her sit, then pushing in her chair. He did it himself, rather than allowing the master-servant to do so. She would not have expected that of someone so highborn. “Sebarial only does what he feels he’s forced to.”

“I think he may surprise you,” Shallan said.

“Oh, he’s already done that on several occasions.”

“Really? When?”

“Well,” Adolin said, sitting, “he once produced a very, um, loud and inappropriate noise at a meeting with the king…” Adolin smiled, shrugging as if embarrassed, but he didn’t blush as Shallan might have in a similar situation. “Does that count?”